Clavicula Nox
by doomkiri
Summary: William wonders just what he has stumbled into when he decides to catch up with Isaac Butler. And it's not just Father Abel we're talking about. AU, WxI, in progress.
1. Chapter 1

**Enjoy, enjoy. The first of a little WilliamxIsaak series, because AS was getting on my nerves a little. Clavicula Nox**, **everyone. May contain spoilers for canon, but I really don't know.**

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He stirred his tea around for a fair few minutes, most of his general awareness absent from his study. William, after all, was a great thinker, even if most of his realized dreams did have one or two odd things about them or caused harm to those within a 20m radius. He really did 'think outside the box', as he had heard it before from some old university type, but at the moment it was not a question of what was on his mind, but who. It troubled him sometimes, that he should still be thinking about this one face from long ago, when most other faces from those Londinium times had crawled slowly into obscurity; this was the one image he did not want to remember, yet he couldn't help but think what had happened to Isaac Butler since their joint expulsion. Because even though Isaac had killed William's dearest, he still held a curious interest for this man.

The changes since they had last met, at least physically, were quite vivid even though all William had to go by was a crumpled photo from the pockets of a fellow AX agent. The Isaac that William knew all those years ago bore striking resemblance to the young Professor; dark brown hair, green (but oddly empty) eyes and impeccable dress sense. Now though, Isaac was veiled in a curtain of black hair which stretched down past his waist, to come to rest somewhere past his thighs (which still kept their lean figure, William noted). His dull green eyes had finally given up their substance, and were now black with just a tinge of red. William looked with some sort of pity upon the photograph: as an ordinary human he did age, showing wrinkles as proof, but he still kept the visage of life. Isaac on the other hand appeared as Death incarnate, and no amount of hair could cover that up. William sighed at his tea. It was most probably cold now; a sip proved it, and the Professor drank it in one go.

His tea finished, the Professor locked the door to his study. An interruption would not be the best thing considering what he was to do next. Rifling through pens, papers and other miscellanea scattered on his desk, William came up with what he wanted. One particularly battered slip of paper, on which was scrawled in spidery hand an address in the town of Thurm, Sacksen (or Saxony, as he was inclined to translate in his head). Beneath it, a telephone number. The Professor was not sure whether the number would still work or not; it had been many years and with the volatile nature of Isaac's life the number and address may well belong to someone else now. Regardless, William dialed the numbers…

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**This is to show I am not completely evil. William is such a dear. Clavicula Nox: the key of the night. A symbol employed by the Dragon Rouge magical order, which began in Sweden. And those of you into metal would also know it as the title of a song by Therion (who are quite close with the order, so I hear). Believed to be an astral key, unlocking the doors to different experiences...Hmm, Summer always gets me down, so a little WxI should be the remedy. Perhaps I will update AS soon...perhaps.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2. I loved writing this. And I don't really care if they're OOC or not. I'm having fun. Or at least as much fun as you can have when listening to Portishead and My Dying Bride singing 'Roads'.

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**

The voice that received William on the other end of the line was warm and mellow on the surface; from his mere greeting alone William couldn't believe that anything had changed about the Isaac from his sun-kissed Albion memories. The ones before _that_ happened. Choking on his tongue, the Professor struggled to get any words out of himself; on the other end Isaac's voice became a touch bemused. A 'may I help you?' and William regained his composure a little, shooting out a greeting for the evening and inquiring if this really was Isaac Butler. The mellow voice on the other cracked a little, it's warmth interspersed with haggard breaths as Isaac caught on to the familiar tone of the Professor; in all of his years exploring the world of mysteries, Isaak had plenty of surprises, but none so powerful as this. Though he did take note of William's nervousness, and decided it would be best to lead conversation.

"William Walter Wordsworth. It has been too long." Isaac chuckled a little between his breaths.

"Y-yes. God, I don't even know why I wanted to call. Isaac Butler…"

"I thought you would kill me rather than call me. Oh dear, you're calling me by _that_ old name."

"What? It _is_ your name, right?" William was now surprised enough to lose his stutter.

"It is Isaak, with a 'k', Isaak Fernando von Kämpfer. My dear, I forgot to reveal my real name to you…" Isaak trailed off, absent-mindedly cooing to himself.

"I…I…"

"Can't think of anything to say? You don't have to. I quite like the sound of your breathing. Makes a nice change from mine."

"You…are still as strange as you have ever been. That hasn't changed, at least. One of my colleagues came across a photograph of you…" William was now curious. He wanted to fathom just how much Isaak had changed. But instead of receiving a straight answer from him, Isaak laughed into the telephone for almost a full minute. Indeed, he could not explain exactly why he was laughing, and soon found himself quite embarrassed.

"Sorry William. It has been a while since I last laughed to someone. So you have seen my present self, have you? Do you like the hair?" he chuckled again to himself "We must meet. No matter how much you may hate me."

"I…I do…hate you..." William's delivery was less than convincing "…Yes, let's meet."

"Marvelous! Come to Linz in the Germanic Empire. You can tell your Vatican Vixen that you will meet with an inventor named…hmm…Otto Heidler. Don't worry about when and where to meet; I'll be watching…" And with that, Isaak hung-up.

William now stood beside his desk wondering what in God's good name he had got himself into. True, he did hate Isaak for killing the woman he looked forward to spending his life with. But he couldn't help but want to see him again, to see what had changed the man into something…almost dead. Because Isaak's appearance could not hide it, and though he tried to keep that warm jovial voice favoured by many a madman, the intermittent ragged breaths and general weary tone suggested something else. William was desperate to know what fate had meted out on this man, this man who was once on the pathway to brilliance. But he would have to wait. Opening the door to fetch a cup of tea, he didn't notice a certain silver-haired priest in his path. Bowling him over, William noted in his mind that this was probably the first in a series of challenges to get to Linz.

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**Linz...You should all know Linz, Austria. Hitler's birthplace and whatnot. Hitler is a misspelling of Heidler, so I hear, and Otto came from Otto Skorzeny. Because I like to have a little history in there. This was really fun to write, regardless of whatever depressing soundtrack I had. It's different for me, and a nice change from intestinal drapes and mushed brain shag carpet. Dedicated to...not Peeve this time though she's still a very good friend. A friend who shall go unnamed...she would have no idea of TB despite my influence. She is powerful without knowing it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three. For Peeve. You will see why.**

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The Professor continued down the Vatican hallway as if Father Nightroad did not exist; Abel was sure to become a permanent fixture of the floor any time soon. William figured he might as well see Caterina, and get his tea on the way back. Cardinal Sforza's office was far away from Wordsworth's study, and the Professor often took the time to wonder why it was so, and also why the Cardinal herself rarely appeared at his door in person. In fact, he had to wonder why everyone had been visiting him less and less (except for Father Abel, bless him); in the end he put it down to increased workloads, though what they could possibly be working on was completely unknown to himself. Perhaps he would slip in tea and a chat with Sister Kate one of these days.

William's wanderings, both mental and physical, brought him to the dining hall. Half-way to her eminence. He lost track of the time, it appeared; normally he would check its progression by consulting his pocket watch at distinct pieces of artwork peppered through the halls. Today he had forgotten to do so, and now felt momentarily lost, like someone who has stepped into a dim house from the blinding noon sun. William needed a rest, and so took a seat at a table (all of which were empty). There was a snap from his hip, and William remembered just what he was going to do: it suddenly didn't seem such a good idea. The Professor's age was catching up to him; his past would probably go one better, wrapping itself around his body , tightening all so slowly till death came by and left. He would never notice. William was afraid of that life he once had; it was comfortable, fitted well, but to slip back into it would surely invite his death. Be damned, all of you, he thinks to himself. Isaac-no, Isaak…Goodness, he even spells it wrong in his head; Isaak stole love-that which William held for _her_, that which William held for himself even, because Isaak, he had…The professor stared at the table top. Isaak would unleash his dogs, tearing down the moral ground William had set between them, and send him tumbling down from his ship into night-sky reflecting ocean. Hell, he was already indulging in the flowery language.

Wordsworth did not notice the chair across from himself. It pulled back, dragging on the wooden floor, and pushed in again underneath a set of vestments. Red vestments, and honeyed curls which beat against that hard face. He did not notice either the set of black ones standing behind her. When the one in red called by his name, no response. The one in black started:

"Damage report, Father William."

The Professor whipped up (he could feel that wasn't good for his bones). He would have said something there and then, but was surprised into silence by Cardinal Sforza sitting opposite. She asked why he left his study; he said to walk, and she knew there was more. A man devoted to searching for (or inventing) truths could not hide every truth he held. And so Caterina ordered tea and some cake so that they could talk in all pleasantness. He asked her why she had left her office; she said 'to walk', and William told her how it made her look so much healthier.

There came a brief silence in which the Cardinal added a sugar cube to her cup.

She asked if there was anything he would like to talk about, as one could hardly expect to walk without turning something over in their head. William began talking of brilliant minds he once knew, and she listened. Perhaps he would say a name she knew of, and they could talk about some other person, anyone really, just as long as health was not mentioned again. She had no clue how to talk about such a thing anymore. The Professor paused a moment. Sforza inadvertently tensed; from previous experience she had learned that William's silence was indicative of an idea. Men and ideas never worked together in the Vatican. But he merely kept talking, this time about an 'Otto Heidler', designer of tanks which always seemed to be utter failures, but a brilliant strategist nonetheless. The Professor paused a moment; he added that the last he saw of the man was his back at the train station, years and years ago, and that he would like to know just what had become of his Germanic friend. The Cardinal, she looked up from her tea and saw that William was staring absent-mindedly at the table top. Evidently the Professor had some sort of connection with this man, and perhaps it could be exploitable. Not to mention there was a mission that needed doing in the Germanic Empire. She would be kind enough to allow him a week away.

"Father William…you can have a week. This Heidler, go find him. But take Father Abel with you, please?"

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**I hope I've been wishy-washy enough, because that's the way I do things. Noties?**

**Unleashing of dogs, tearing down moral ground...? It seems William, in his Londinium days, has unearthed a Pre-Armageddon recording! Specifically, Nick Cave's 'The Ship Song', which is a pretty good find if you ask me.  
Mr. Heidler. It seems his defining points are a mix of those from Hitler, Skorzeny and Guderian. In that Hitler failed just about everything except oratory, Skorzeny was a crack commando who had some good plans, and Guderian was a fine strategist who 'fathered' Blitzkrieg.**

**So, chapter four will come sometime. I've been in a happy writing mood these past few days.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

**Apologies to those who have waited. I am a lazy git. A.S. updates? When I get around to it.**

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Isaak had wondered for a good while whether or not he really wanted to meet William again; he had made the offer on a whim, not expecting the Professor to take it up himself. In fact, it was odd to Isaak that William did not seem to be genuinely angry during that phone call, considering that whole nasty expulsion affair. This didn't fit with anything he had in mind about William, and no matter how much he ran it through his head he couldn't think of any sound reason for the man not to scream obscenities over the phone. Granted, he was of the Vatican, but Isaak's observations of human grudges showed that most of the time, people acted rather violently to those who had done nasty things like killing sweethearts. Yes, it was all very odd; maybe a few cigarillos would help him churn out an answer.

Approximately thirty minutes later, Isaak received a call. He stared at the receiver for the first couple of rings; when the third started he snatched it up and waited. This had the mildly amusing effect of bewildering the caller:

"Isaak? Isaak? Are you there? I've talked to Caterina…Isaak…Answer me you twit!"

"Yes dear?"

William sighed. "You little-"

"Are you going to talk to me about something important?"

"Yes, I-"

"Oh that's a shame; I was looking forward to a little fun."

"Well, if you-"

"I like you." Isaak chuckled. Perhaps he had smoked something he wasn't meant to.

"What?"

"Are you going to get to the point soon?"

"Yes, if you just sto-"

"If I just what? Are we talking about me?"

William sighed again. How his erstwhile friend could become so irritating at times was confusing, but it did show at least that had not changed.

"I have a week, Isaak."

"Splendid. I'm sure you and I will-"

"Oh, and another priest is coming. Her emi-"

"And who?!" Isaak found the thought of sharing an unbearable one.

"A companion. Caterina ordered me to bring him along."

"I see. He will be attended to."

"Actually, it would be best if he stayed with us."

"…Why?" There was a slight tinge of anger in his voice.

"He seems to attract misfortune. It would be best if I kept watch on him."

"I won't have that. I have plenty of people who can take care of him, without lethal force mind you."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, yes. The whole point of this is me and you…"

Isaak hung up. He was more than peeved at having to accommodate someone else. That means one more person to distract William, just like before. Only this time he couldn't go about killing this other priest, and in the end he settled on Guderian to take care of the man. He and William did not need a chauffer, and besides, with Guderian around it was as if there was a living, breathing silence where the werewolf might be. Isaak lit another cigarillo…

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**Evidently, no one is perfectly sane. Updates will come sporadically; I am putting effort into studying right now, and it's proven to be the most strangest thing I have done. **


End file.
